Yesterday India celebrated its 61st independence day amidst much fanfare and media hype. Once again promises were made from the rampart of the historic Red Fort and huge allocations were pledged to education and agriculture. Newspapers dutifully listed all achievements and reading them would have made any one proud. Staggering figures seemed to pervade all sectors of growth as India seemed poised to become a super power.

And yet was it not barely a week ago that a TV channel gave us the startling revelation that over 32 000 primary schools across the country did not have a single student? This sums up much of what is happening in our land. Brave and even laudable programmes and projects get launched but never reach the beneficiary. Somewhere down the line they get hijacked by vested interests.

A leading newspaper has launched a new campaign called LEAD where the operative word is DO! It is a well planned media blitz with all the right ingredients including a string of celebs and will in all probability bring its creators what they aspire for till the next campaign but somehow it seems to have hit the nail on its head.

We seem to have become a nation of non-doers. In response to an email sent on I day, a friend wrote back: Whenever I tell someone to save paper or adopt vegetarian way of life – the response is neutral or negative but hardly enthusiastic.

In a land so deeply divided between the have and have nots, the rich and the poor, the urban and the rural those of us who have the ability to make a difference have lost our enthusiasm and withdrawn ourselves in the comfort of neutrality. We seem to be waiting for the other to do! And this passing on the task goes down the line till there is no other left.

We will become truly independent only when each one of us shakes off this neutrality and acts, when we accept our part of responsibility in each things that is wrong and asks questions; when we finally accept to stand up and leave that mythical armchair. That day India will be truly independent.

“Goodness is the only investment that never fails.” said Henry David Thoreau and till very recent times I felt that way. Look with your heart, a maxim borrowed from the Little Prince is one I followed with conviction and I guess that is also why a project aimed at imparting education found itself mending hearts along the way.

And that is also why one did not shy of helping N when she was in need, no matter what the need was. Imagine my surprise when I came to know that a humane act was so grossly misconstrued by some that it led to recriminations and even show cause notices and possible dismissal for N. I must confess that such a reaction from seemingly educated people came not only as a shock, but also as a rude reality check that left me dumbfounded.

No matter which way I tried to look at the matter, I could not find any element of logic to warrant such action and reaction. I shared my dilemma with many friends and one of them wrote these words: I think a lot of people equate kindness (and following your heart) as a weakness. So many people live self-centered lives that they can’t imagine doing something for someone else without expecting some sort of reward or payment (even though kindness has its own rewards).

Maybe he is right and such people exist but I stil find it difficult to comprehend the totally unwarranted blow that has fallen on one who has suffered enough.

And quite frankly if following your heart is a weakness, then I hope I remain weak as long as I live.

Recent days have seen a plethora of disturbing images flashed across our TV screens: a 17 year old boy gets beaten to death by his teacher for not sitting properly; 5 disabled men consume poison in public as they lose their source of livelihood; a one day old baby is found in a garbage dump with multiple stab wounds, to name but a few.

These make good copy and TRP rates for the media. They appear for a day or so and then are replaced by other images as the show must go on. In most cases they entail a few shocked reactions are then are forgotten.

However if one chose to ponder a while, one realised that each incident carries within it a disturbing reality that shows the endemic problems that exist in our society and are often the rule rather than the exception. They are cameos of the everyday life of millions of invisible Indians and reflect the plight of poverty, government apathy and many other ailments that plague our society.

It is true that the media reports them for their own purposed but that does not absolve us of the right to take note and react in an appropriate and humane manner.

The sentencing of Sanjay Dutt yesterday once again renewed one’s faith in the rule of law. As the court drama enfolded on TV channels one did tend to feel a surge of sympathy for the actor who has endeared himself in recent times as the genial Munabhai and quite frankly one did hope that he would get the probation he sought.

But as the first words of the judgement were heard one realised that in the ultimate analysis justice needs to prevail and the rule of law has to be respected. What Sanjay Dutt did was indeed a very serious offence and could not be overlooked. Imagine if the same had been done by an ordinary citizen: the very people who were busy trying to find loopholes for SD would have been the first ones to nod their approval to maximum punishment for the culprit.

One has to admire the judge who rose above all emotion and sentimentality and pronounced a just sentence, one that will send the right message to all those who may want to take the law in their hands.

Fame of any kind, or power or money cannot give people the licence to do as they please. It is important for each one of us to know that ultimately the law will catch up with anyone who dares take it in his own hand.

The recent plight of HIV+ve children has been making headlines. Denied school, then readmitted, then targeted. As usual once again it is good copy for the media and we have picture of the little souls with their faces blurred but ever so recognisable flashed on the screens with obsessive regularity. And the now trendy QOTDs (read question of the day) pertain to this issue: should HIV+ve kids be denied schools? and more of the same.

This heart wrenching incident brings many matters to the fore. The problem of these children does not seem to stem from the authorities but from parents of other children and their misconceptions and fears. The stigma attached to AIDS is mind boggling as we ourselves have experiences at pwhy. When we initiated awareness classes on AIDS, some parents stopped their children from coming to the centre and accused us of being immoral! People from all walks of life seem to associate HIV to loose morals and obliterate the many other causes.

Campaigns have failed to highlight real issues such as its multiple causes and its transmission. hence all HIV+ve patients are denied basic humane behaviour and sensitivity. I recently visited a patient who had contracted the virus through an ill-fated transfusion and was admitted to a hospital. I was shocked to see that rather than have a small sign or code to indicate her status, a huge placard bearing the words BIO HAZARD was hung on her bedpost reminding one of the yellow stars of the Nazi days. What could have been done discreetly was unfortunately done in the most uncaring way.

To the question should kids be denied school the answer has to sadly be yes as long as the environment is not conducive to their presence; yes as long as their status is branded to one and all; yes as long as they are not accepted wholeheartedly for placing them in the midst of a polemic can be destructive.

The QOTDs on this issue should have been addressed to each one of us as in a simple: would you accept to have an HIV+ve kid in your environment?

Wonder what the answer would be then?

Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm inwardly that life with all its sorrows is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow. Dorothy Thompson

I have been locked in silence for a few days. A rare occurrence for me as I always seem to err on the other side, always the one to find the word, action, reaction to any situation whatever it may be.

As I pick up my virtual pen to ultimately break this muteness I find myself diminished in more ways than one. Gone is the bravado and cockiness, the ease with which one took on every cause to espouse, the fire to fight for seemingly lost causes and in its place the inevitable almost existential question: who am I and what gives me the right to do what I do?

The last seven years were filled with a sense of achievement – no matter how minute – a feeling of pride as children passed exams, hearts got fixed, women got empowered, and we grew from 20 to 100 and then to over 500! There were even moments when hubris took over albeit for the tiniest of moments and one’s human side stood exposed as one carefully filed press cuttings with a feeling of satisfaction. One had arrived or so one thought.

However life or God or whoever else it is that holds the trump card always intervenes before you wander to far and this is what happened at a time when I felt almost invincible as we worked towards N’s operation. A simple barely murmured sentence by this extraordinary woman as we sat counting numbers dealt me a blow I am still reeling over. She simply said: had I not had the past I had, I would not have been able to be who I am today.

These are words many of us have said or thought or even believe. But when your past begins with the worst case of abuse at an age when you should be playing with dolls and in a split moment the stage was set for a life where everything would be defiled: her childhood, her dreams, her mind, her spirit, her soul: in a word her future. To bear the pain came the drugs, the alcohol and the defiance of all the rules as, are these not made for those who have the luxury of a normal life where childhood grows into adolescence and matures to adulthood.

Those were her dark years where danger, misfortune , fear, injustice played their destructive game and as is often the case in such situations temerity ruled. Everything is sacrificed with impudence or so one feels. But somewhere a little voice tells you to hold on and a flickering light beckons you to reach out. It is that very glimmer that led N out of her dark labyrinth into a pool of luminous light that not only dispelled her darkness but became a beacon for others to follow and makes a barely literate woman say with pride: I would not have been what I am today.

For N is. In a world where people are happy being shadows or clones, she stands out as an example of hope, a vindication of all those who believe that nothing or no one is hopeless or beyond redemption. But above all N puts into to question the very foundation of those like me, who feel smug in the tiny roles they have chosen for themselves.

Today, when I look back at my existence and particularly at the last seven years I often hold as my best, I see nothing much to write home about or be proud of. It just seems one did what one had to keeping in mind the abundance of privileges one was dealt with all along. N brought into my life a different perspective altogether and a new meaning to the word tomorrow. It becomes imperative for me, to redefine that tomorrow and strive towards it with renewed hope.

A few days back an acquaintance who is a jet setting honcho of a huge MNC was house hunting. He finally zeroed on a flat in an up up market district of our capital city. The rent a whopping 550 000 rs a month! Mind you it is not a bungalow, just a second floor in a building! Needless to say the rent is being paid by the company.

This afternoon N insisted on showing me her home. This is the place she is coming back to a few days after her hip joint replacement to recuperate. It is the tiniest of room in a tiny lane of a small middle class colony, with a sordid bathroom and a poky kitchen. She shares the room with a friend and once you lay out two mattresses on the floor there is no place to sleep. Yet it is her home, one she proudly shows. There is a TV, photographs on the wall, and little knickknacks which give it a welcoming appearance. She pays 2000 rs for it, a large chunk of her small salary!

N’s story is one heart wrenching and one you would only think happens in the minds of fiction or script writers. But is also a story of hope as she has proved to one and all that one can survive the worst nightmare and came out of winner.

At an age when others still play with dolls she was abused and then came a spiralling descent to hell which for her was a heady cocktail of alcohol, drugs, and abuse of unimaginable proportion. Yet she came out of it a winner as she took on the task of helping her soul sisters follow her lead.

When she talks of her past, she does it without bitterness or anger, without acrimony or rancour; she has accepted it as a part of herself and one she had made peace with. She simply picked up the broken pieces of her life and wove them into a new life where hope and faith are the call of the day.

Her smile is infectious and her joie de vivre contagious. It is as if she has to make up for lost time and fill her life only light and joy. Looking at her you would not believe the pain she is and that she need a hip replacement that will cost the earth. She is just knows she has to get back on her feet as there is still so much to be done. She has left it to all God’s angels and just carries on. And somehow I know the angels will appear in all shades and hues as when it is comes to a woman like N it just cannot be otherwise.

The morning I spent with her was one the most beautiful I have ever known as it renewed my faith in all that is good and kind. It also made me once again believe in the fact that no life is too wretched to give up on. As we shared a simple meal cooked by another woman whose childhood was usurped by predators under the watchful of eye of our personal angel Mr P, I felt at peace after a long time.

And when we finally stopped by that tiny little room, it somehow felt like the biggest castle as it was overflowing with dreams and aspirations waiting to be fulfilled.

Last week a TV crew came to project why. They spent two days capturing the shots they wanted and driving us literally up the wall. When it was over, the producer handed me a form tat he said needed to be filled. It began like all data sheets with queries about name, dob etc.. but then were a host of questions asking for one’s favourite things.

At age 55+ it seems a little inane to have to answer favourite actor, food, actress, movie colour, dress and God knows what else, so I simply followed the lead of my excited young colleagues. True there was a time when I did have a list of favourite things, but stilettos gave way to floaters as style was sacrifices at the alter of comfort! However one question caught my eye: what is your favourite book?

This one was for me, my true turf, as books had been my friends, solace, companions and mentors right from my early days. At first glance, it seemed an easy question as was I not the ones who lived and breathed books. I still remember how deeply moved I had been by Francois Truffaut’s stunning film Fahrenheit 451 where the possibility of a world without books entered by adolescent mind.

So the question what is your favourite book was one I had to answer myself. easier said than done as I sat pencil in hand trying to recall the innumerable number of books that I had read over the years and finding the one that could truly deserve the attribute of favourite!

My mind rapidly scanned the books I had always professed liking, but each somehow fell short of something. They seemed more to have been in tune with a particular moment of my existence but paled beyond that reality. What I sought was the book that had withstood the vagaries of a lifetime; the one that gave the same intense pleasure each time one opened it; the one that always had the ability to answer the query of the moment no matter what it could be; the one that could soothe frayed nerves and make you believe that life was worth living even in your darkest hour; the one that had never left your bookshelf!

My mind travelled back and forth as many titles came to mind, but only one could answer all the aforesaid questions as well as those not yet formulated as yes there was such a book in my life: The Little Prince by Antoine de St Exupery, a book that had entered my life when I was twelve and that still sits comfortably on my bookshelf.

To many and by the looks of it, The little Prince is a children’s book, and I must confess that when I first read it, it did not quite compete with the adventure books that were hot favourites of mine. But I found myself attracted to it in an almost intuitive way and as years passed I often picked up and read bits of it at times when I was confused, sad or lonely.

The Little Prince is a mesmerising book as it seems to address to each one of us and any given time in our lives. It is a quaint philosophical fable written way back in the 1940’s but one that retains its freshness as we meet its diverse protagonists: the businessman counting useless stars, or tippler who drinks because he is ashamed of his drinking.

And as you get lost in this world you realise the futility of many things your held as important and the importance of those you overlooked. You are gently taught of the danger of losing your ability to question what you cannot comprehend or what you find absurd. And gently you are led to the one secret that holds true in life and extols you to learn to look with you heart.

In hindsight I now see how deeply this tiny book has helped me and guided me in life and deserves to be my favourite book!

You’ re simply the best we sang with as much energy as Tina Turner as the 12 girls of our class XII batch cleared their Boards with panache. Yes this year the project why class XII was an all girls batch. A matter of pride for us but also a true reflection of an existing social reality. parents spend more on boys and hence most are given private tuition. The girls are just sent to project why!

Today we can see the next line of the song – better than all the rest – as the X Boards results are out and once again our 11 boys and 11 girls have passed too!

I have now words to express what I feel though this day as dawned 7 times for us. Yet each time I feel as overwhelmed and somehow a tad sad as there are many children who have the ability but lack the tiny little bit of help they need.

I just wish we could do more…

Once again our kids have done us proud. All 12 project why students have cleared their class XII Boards and some with distinction. What makes this bunch different to all others is that many come from poor homes and have studied against many odds. Some were even considered failures when they first came to us and in some cases we had to convince parents to allow the kids to continue their studies.

But today all is forgotten, and a palpable feeling of joy filled the classroom as the results were declared. The credit goes to Naresh our senior secondary teacher whose dedication and unwavering faith in his students motivated them to give their very best.

It is time to celebrate

I normally am rarely at home during the course of the day and thus am not aware of he comings and goings that dot a normal working day seen from the inside of a home. Yesterday I remained indoors on doctor’s advise and spent most the time in my tiny office which is next to the main entrance of the house and thus closest to the gate.

My hope of getting some serious work done was soon shattered by the door bell that rang at disturbing intervals. Bar the ironing man and the gardener all other interruptions came from a new persona: the courier man.

Soon a little pile of envelopes of all shades and hue littered my usually pristine desk. There were a few bills, a few invitations but the majority of the pile was made of diverse promos and publicity material. Though we are only three in the house, my husband is a member of two prestigious clubs and thus on several mailing lists. From sarees to silverware, from furniture to food, from electronic goods to art exhibitions everyone seemed to consider us a valued customer. And each envelope was glossier than the other and in sizes that would never fit the slit of a mailbox. And if that was not enough, most of the envelopes were packed in high quality transparent plastic lest they get soiled!

Like in most homes, the carefully wrapped messages would soon find their way in the waste, and in city like ours where waste segregation is still an unheard concept, the carefully worded suggestions to valued people who simply add to the burden of a collapsing planet.

Everyone is talking of global warming and the need to act. And one of the simple ways of doing so is my protecting trees and saving paper. Is not time for us as concerned citizens to raise our voices against this flood of publicity that now targets our very homes? I know that many will talk about the numerous jobs that this industry gives and supports. But is it not time to alter perceptions and reinvent things in a more environment friendly way?

In the times of the Internet and the electronic media, there have to be ways of halting the proliferation of publicity material that is suffocating the planet. And if one insists on printed material then one should use only recycled paper. I have often written about my concern on the proliferation of pouches that have hit urban slums and litter the roads and clog drains. Companies who market these are rich enough to invest into developing environment friendly packaging were it made mandatory. But in the game of money making who will bell the cat. And the cat is often within our home and goes by the name of comfort and convenience. It is so much easier to get a plastic bag from the shopkeeper than to carry a cloth one; it is easier to sump all garbage in a plastic bag than to segregate it.

Added to comfort and convenience is another culprit that goes by the name of convention. When we began our work almost 10 years ago and looked around we found that all organisations had beautiful brochures and pamphlets. In our earlier days we did the same but thankfully because of paucity of funds and the ever changing nature of our work we had to put a stop and look for alternatives. Those were the early days of the net and we jumped the bandwagon and created our website that we managed in-house. The rest is history and today even the printer has stopped making his customary sale calls. And today when people ask us for litterature about the project we refer them to the site and the blog and if needed print out one set of the required information.

Be it plastic, paper or water laws alone can never suffice. One has to change mindsets and alter our ways of thinking and be prepared to be called marginal or wacko. When my daughter got married we did not print wedding cards. Barring one person everyone did turn up.

It is time each one of us starts giving up old ways and find new ones. It is not an easy task but it is the only one that will help our children have a future.

Bye bye hot samosas was the the blog I had written some time back when one first heard of the probable banning of all street food in our city. Yesterday the Supreme Court decreed and imposed a ban on all street food.

We often fail to see things unless we have a real reason to. For as long as I remember I have driven past roads in Delhi not quite looking at street food. Lately I have found myself actually doing so and have been amazed by the abundance of what is soon going to disappear: From small road stalls to carts, from samosas to meals via fruits and zingy snacks, the street food culture permeates the very soul of this city! And true to its globalisation efforts we now have Chinese food and burger stalls too! Frankly I cannot begin to imagine the streets without these. It is true that if we look closely at some of these stalls we are compelled to frown at the hygiene standards or the safety norms; however life without them seems a tad sad.

That was nostalgia but the problem does not end there. In my pre project why days street food was that forbidden treat we sought once in a while, but many of us do not realise that for millions in the city it is a lifeline!

At 5 or 10 rupees a plate it is a hot meal for those who do not have families or time to get up and cook. To others it is the sole way of having some fruits or a sweet treat. And to thousands of families it is the much needed income that brings a meal at the end of the day.

It was heartwarming to see that a leading TV channel had launched a campaign to save Delhi’s street food on the lines of earlier campaigns to get justice. And the pictures that were aired were those of humble people who candidly defended their right to a meal.

That Delhi is bursting at its seams because of the daily influx of migrants is a reality that no one can overlook, but can one deny the fact that this has happened with the tacit approval of those in power. Swelling vote banks, new causes to defend were all part of a hubristic game and no one saw the writing on the wall.

As numbers grew so did the support network: food stalls, street barbers, cobblers, cycle repair shops et al. And greed broke all bounds: the greed of the politicians who wanted more voters, the greed of the administration who saw more sources of dubious income, the greed of the people who found new shortcuts to earning. Till the day when someone saw red and petitioned the courts.

I cannot but begin to imagine how the new law will be brought into force keeping in mind the host of people that it will affect: livelihood of some, sustenance of the other and above all extra income of yet another. The scenario is quite frightening as no real option seems to have been put in place. The ban on street food will swell the ranks of the unemployed and increase lawlessness. Or will it be a cat and mouse game that will benefit the greedy law enforcers as the fact that street food is available in the remotest recesses of the city makes it easy to move into a grey mode.

All this is yet to be seen, the large issue remains that once again it is the poor that is hit. We will still find ways to fulfill our nostalgic urges as in all likelihood, traditional street food will find new moorings. What will disappear is the hot lunch option that sustains a multitude of people who toil hard in this city and make it a better place for us.

Children sometimes say the most astonishing things. Many times it takes you a while to decipher the words as they often assume that you know what they are thinking and deliver the rest in what can best the best riddle..

Kiran and I were riding in the three wheeler when she suddenly said: Pamika -read shamika my daughter – pablic main thi naa.. which can be translated as: Shamika was in public, wasn’t she? Then as she saw my bemused face she added: School, kaun se school main thi.. which school was she in?
I mumbled : French school and pat came the next sentence: who pablic hai na.

That is when the penny dropped and I could say Eureka!

What little Kiran mean was asking was whether Shamika studied in a public school as compared to a government school. To her there were just two kinds of schools: the public ones like the one she went to, and the to municipal or government ones.

Her parents and her favourite aunt had gone to the later. But the whole family decided to make a huge effort and get her admitted in a public school to give her the best start possible. Her admission has its own share of drama that she witnessed as nothing can be hidden in the tiny homes. Kiran processed the information in her own way and then came up with her perplexing query as she reviewed every one she knew.

The above incident can lead to many debates but what stays in my mind is the vulnerability of a child ‘s mind as it handles information it receives. What one must not forget is that such maters remained ingrained for a long time.

Sunday 13 May was an special day at project why. A Right to Information meeting was held at our Okhla centre. Santosh and Priyanka tow RTI activists from Parivartan and Kabir, came all the wau from east Delhi to explain how this Act could make a diference in the lives of humble Indian citizens. The meet had been organised by Amit and our community awareness team.

It was a hot sultry day and at first attendance was scarce as many believed that the meeting was dubious reasons ranging. A little prompting from Pushpa and Manju our Okhla centre teachers and numerous trips by kids to their home did the trick and soon some parents and bystanders arrived. As the meeting began more people joined in. Santosh and Priyanka introduced the RTI in simple terms replete with case studies and slowly the motley crowded got interested and started sharing their stories. The main theme was ration cards and ration availability, something that seemed to touch everyone. A palpable excitement pervaded the atmosphere as simple people slowly realised that they too had a voice, and one that could be heard.

Slowly people started to raise their own issues ranging from admission in schools to the precarious nature of their habitat and our RTI activists showed them how even such issues could be addressed through RTI.

The seed had been sown. And though there were a few discordant notes namely voiced by some drunken men, the general mood was one of optimism and hope. But we cannot rest o our laurels, this is just the embryonic beginning of what can be an incredible journey. We will help file some applications this week itself as the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Simple souls have short memories and the wretchedness of their lives may soon obliterate this fleeting moment of hope.

It is our duty to do so.

There is a new blog about the comings and goings of project why. Khabar why ki was launched some time back hesitantly by our incomparable duo Shamika and Rani. After a slow beginning it as now taken off in style.

Khabar why ki is a blog in roman Hindi and shares in a candid way the daily events that occur at project why. It offers a different view as it comes almost from the horse’s mouth. I hope many of you will drop and encourage this new enterprise.

This morning a neighbour of Mehajabi came by. Actually he was the man who had first brought her to us. He had come to collect the precious receipts that would ensure that the child was operated. After collecting the two pieces of paper and listening to the instructions, he lingered on for a while, hesitant to say what he wanted to.

I asked him what the mater was and he said shoved some medical papers in my hand and mumbled some inaudible words. This is his story..

Two years ago he lived in a village in Bihar where he eked a living as a daily wage labourer. He has a tiny plot of land and a little house. Life would have carried on were it not for his wife’s sudden loss of hearing. Local medical facilities being non-existent, he decided to come to Delhi in the hope of getting his wife cured. In Delhi he rented a tiny hovel and started his life as a daily wage labourer in earnest. He also set out get his wife treated but soon discovered that each day spent at the government hospital was one without work and the treatment was taking forever as he was sent from pillar to post.

After some time the comings and goings got the better of the little family as there were four children that needed to be carted each time and the loss of income was too much to bear. The wife too took on a job and life went on. But the ear ailment worsened. The wife’s employer decided to ‘help’ and sent the wife to a local specialist. She paid part of the treatment but then left for another city. The wife was ‘operated’ upon and given a huge prescription of expensive medicines. Part of the doctor’s bill still needed to be paid and the man borrowed and paid the same. But no money was left for the medication and the wife never went back to the doctor.

This was two weeks ago, and the man was at his wit’s end as infection had set in, the landlord not been paid and the family in danger of being homeless. He had come to ask for help.

A quick glance at the medical papers he carried showed that they did not even state what kind of surgery had been performed. We took him to our local doctor who referred him to a ENT specialist and we will try and ensure that she gets treated.

There must be many like this family who come to the city and get caught in an infernal spiral. They leave their roots and home to seek better medical help but soon find themselves worse they were in a inhospitable big city that is ready to devour them. As they try to survive, they sink deeper into debt. Some turn to alcohol, others gamble, and still others take their frustration out on their helpless families.

Welcome to the world of medical tourism of another kind.

Was it only a year ago that I wrote about my worst fears in a post I entitled plastic fantastic lover. I have been watching in helpless horror the gleaming bikes and big cars that landed in the darkest lanes of the slums around us, courtesy a pyramid sales company promising an El Dorado t any one who joined them. I have watched with extreme sadness young people falling prey one after the other to this hoax, many leaving their studies midway, many our very own students. I have screamed myself hoarse trying to guard them from the pitfalls I could see. I have prayed hard for them to fall before it is too late. But the enemy was too formidable and the lollies to attractive.

Day after day more bikes, more cars, more white shirts and blank pants, more frenzy, more euphoria. The voices of reason were silenced and many even gloated at all that had been achieved.

I just sat silent wondering when the pyramid would crash, I sat silent asking myself how did one pick the pieces of broken dreams and shattered hope, how did one clean up after the storm has passed. My worst case scenario was huge debts leading to despair. And though the idea had seeded in my mind, nothing could prepare me for the news I heard this morning: one of the young kids had taken is own life this morning as he could not face the creditors knocking at his door and had no one to turn to for help. He was twenty one.

And as the story unfolded, all apprehensions and fears stood validated. Many young boys and girls were faced with huge debts. The dreams of early days now lay jaded. The careless freedom had taken its toll as many girls lost their way in a world they could not master. Some of the ring leaders were faced with lawsuits and had gone in hiding. Reality had caught up with these misguided children who had no one to turn to.

My mind went back to the innumerable posts I had written about my fears. My mind went back to some hate mails I got where young people lauded the work of MLM. I kept some of them and paste one here as it was sent to me without editing :

myself ebizzer amit
ebiz.com (p) ltd
The power of right decision
ebiz become the best network marketing company of the world by touching millions of people around the world by essential komputer eduction, quality produts and service at vrey reasonble and offardable costs, to help them achieve financial freedom.

I have nothing to say as these words spek for themselves. I just hope and pray that no other life will have to be lost.